Deutschland und Preußen
by kanimex3
Summary: A series of mini stories/one-shots focused on Germany and Prussia. Fluff, angst, humor, all of these feature our beloved German brothers. Das ist Deutschland, das ist Preußen! Based off of head canons seen online, or requests sent in by you! Enjoy!


**(A/N: A little series of one-shots/mini stories I'm writing featuring Germany and Prussia, along with some of the other Germanic countries. Family fluff, some angst, humor, you never know. I hope you enjoy it, and you can put in requests for a one-shot. These are mostly inspired by head canons I see online, which i give credit to the original owners. R &R! Enjoy:)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor it's characters.**

Chapter One: DAS IST DEUTSCHLAND!

Germany was casually drinking beer in a local bar on one of the rare weekends he was able to take off of work and training. It was at these times that he also liked to see how his people were and he loved walking through town, giving him the experience to see just what they did. It was also one of those rare times that his brother, Prussia, decided to tag along. He had been planning to shop for wurst, but the loud, self-proclaimed "awesome" albino had protested loudly, saying, "Aw, but Bruder! Please! C'mon, ve have to go to zhe bar, loosen up, Luddy! Loosen up!" until he had no choice but to comply with Gilbert. He was so childish and always complained, and had no sense of responsibility. Germany knew that it wasn't exactly the ex-nation's fault, but he could at least help out when he was staying in his basement!

Sighing and massaging his forehead, he took another gulp of beer, relishing it's crisp taste. Yes, German beer was definitely the best, like liquid gold. American beer tasted so cheap and he didn't understand how America's people could drink it, much less go to their bars. The last time he had gone to a bar in America, he had made the mistake of going to a local one in Chicago during the Stanley Cup Final. The Blackhawks had won, resulting in the deafening cheers of the people as they tossed their mugs around. Germany, quite confused, just sat their awkwardly, squished between the Americans. Then, the Stanley Cup had managed to make an appearance at the bar. Ludwig, upon seeing it, had been a tad bit impressed. It had been passed around, people touching it, taking photos with it, kissing it. Then people saw from outside, and _tried to break through the windows to get to it. What. The. Hell._ Glass was smashed, people were trying to run off with it, and Ludwig just sat in his place at the bar, watching things descend to hell. He had nearly been mauled by a group of drunk Americans who had managed to start a bar fight, and hightailed it out of there when he heard police sirens in the distance. Yes, American bars could be dangerous and rowdy. And when he saw America next, he had asked about how his bars were, to which he received the reply of, "Oh, dude, our bars are sooo great! We get drunk, smash things, and beat the shit out of each other!"

So Germany had stuck to his local bars, where the beer was heavenly and his people were jolly.

He'd spoken too soon.

A loud laugh resounded through the air. Germany turned to look, and wanted to kill his brother.

The proud ex-nation was in a half-drunken state, sitting on top of a table in the other side of the bar, using two people as foot stools while chugging down beer. The people below his boots were swearing at him in German, and other people were starting to get rowdy. Fuck. Laughing again, Gilbert looked towards Ludwig and met his eyes.

"LUDWUG! LUDDY!" He cried, standing up on the people who collapsed to the floor, trying to tear off his legs. He dodged them, spilling his beer on their faces, and ran towards Ludwig. "COME JOIN ME!"

"Bruder!" Ludwig barked, smacking his face. "Stop it, you'll start a bar fight or somezhing!"

Gilbert cackled. "Oh, jou noticed? Don't vorry, I'm too awesome to start a bar fight at zhis point."

Ludwig groaned and turned back around. "Just go avay and don't do anyzhing stupid."

"Okay, I vill." Was Gilbert's reply. Well, that was easy, his brother was actually obeying on the first try.

Unbeknownst to him, Gilbert had returned to his table and was currently running towards him. He jumped and performed a perfect drop-kick onto Germany's head as he was taking a big swig, choking him. "DAS IST DEUTSCHLAND!"

 **Bonus:**

About five seconds later, a huge bar fight broke out and a certain white haired man was seen running down the street, shouting "DAS IST DEUTSCHLAND" at the top of his lungs as a huge, blonde and scary German chased after him, waving his beer mug over his head. Both were nearly caught by the police, as more people stormed out including two men drenched in beer. They seemed to all want to kill the albino.

 **(A/N: First chapter done! Or, first mini story. About the Blackhawks bar thing, my uncle actually was there at a bar in Chicago when they won and the Stanley Cup was there and people actually did try to come in through the windows. I know this first story sucked, like, a lot, but I'll improve on it. Don't forget to put in requests and I'll see you soon!**

 **'Till next time,**

 **Author-chan~)**


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